


forest fires

by thechavanator



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mythical, Canonical Character Death, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), Let Gemma Do Things, Love Confessions, M/M, Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Temporary Character Death, as promised: one lad, but that was the request that started it all SO, entirely too much discussion of mythical Lore, gonna level with ya i have no idea what to classify this as, jasper mention, not really described in detail but Worth Mentioning, off-screen of natural causes but You Know, suddenly faris feels!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechavanator/pseuds/thechavanator
Summary: Not all fires are meant to destroy, or just to destroy, anyway. Sometimes they’re meant to clear space for new life to grow and flourish. Perhaps that’s why the Luminary, this time around, is a phoenix. Mostly. Doesn’t quite explain the rest of his companions being some sort of mythical, though.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 45





	1. quiet years

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I took some prompt requests and puffinpastry gave me a mythical AU prompt and I immediately went "oh Eleven is a phoenix" and then suddenly I had IDEAS and now I am being BRIBED WITH FANART so now this exists. I churned out the first bit of this in an hour and a fucking half, what the hell happened. (Worth noting I only gave this chapter a quick once over) 
> 
> SO! This thing is gonna be a sporadically-updated compilation of short stuff about this quest with these parameters because I already have one fic that's "retell the game with these differences" and I can't do another, man. I'm apparently essential business, I have a chaotic life rn.
> 
> Thanks to the aforementioned puff for prompting this whole thing, I have thought entirely too hard about these characters in this setting.
> 
> ALSO WORTH NOTING I took some liberties with the mythical creatures, because this is my city and I can.

**_Year One_ **

Normally when her father brought something back from the river, it was just a fish, or maybe even a peculiar treasure that washed down to their neck of the woods. Why would today be any different?

Of course, that thought came before Amber had even _considered_ the idea of her father bringing home a child. A child with _wings_ , even.

Curse her father’s adventuring heart. He’s already doting on the poor thing, cooing over him as the wings shimmer and fade. What a strange child.

Part of her wants to tell him to bring the baby somewhere else, but between the wings and the fact that Chalky _literally found the poor thing in the river_ , her heart suggests that perhaps sending him away is a terrible idea. (And perhaps that was just her own history as an orphan talking, but she can’t bear to put that fate on anyone else.) And so, perhaps despite her better judgement, she takes him in.

Only then do they notice the pendant, glimmering with the seal of Dundrasil shining from its center, and the letter, and they realize just what they had gotten into.

**_Year Six_ **

Eleven (as they named him) settled into the village surprisingly well, making friends with the mayor’s granddaughter about the same time the two learned to talk. And that certainly eased Amber’s burden; she had worried from the moment she took him in that he’d feel lonely, but with Gemma sticking close to him, Amber knew he would be just fine.

Some of her older neighbors whisper about how the two of them will end up married one day, but Eleven wrinkles his nose and Gemma yells about how he has cooties, and Amber tells them all off. She’d been friends with plenty of young men in her youth, and the idea of marrying _any_ of them was ridiculous. (Besides, they’re the same people who cast strange glances at Chalky when he had brought her to Cobblestone with no mother in sight, and the same people who had thought it _incredibly_ scandalous when she first emerged from her house with Eleven in tow. They adjusted. They’ll learn in time.)

And speaking of her little soldier, he rushes into the house, Gemma right behind him clutching her scarf. “ _Mum_!” he signs with childish delight, “ _didja know I can fly_?”

The stew she’s cooking suddenly goes ignored as she glances at her son. Sure enough, the wings are back, shimmering every color before they fade once more. Gemma gapes at him, gasping loud enough to be heard in every house in town, and likely Heliodor, too, for that matter.

“My scarf got stuck in a tree again, an’ ‘e tried to jump fer it, an’ _then_ ‘e flew!!!! Nobody else saw it an’ nobody’s gonna b’lieve us, but it ‘appened!!!” She bounces around the room as though Dunstan had given her too much candy. Again. “You gotta b’lieve us, Miss Amber!”

Amber sighs, her smile betraying her thoughts. “Oh, trust me, Gemma, dear, I believe you. Now, I’m sure your grandfather is almost done making dinner, so I think playtime might be over for the day.” She ruffles Gemma’s hair, getting a giggle even though the little one is pouting, and sends her on her way. She ruffles Eleven’s hair, too, before she turns back to the stew. “I’m sure your grandfather has quite a story to tell you, my little soldier, so why not spend a little time with ‘im?” He nods, dashing off to Chalky’s bedroom.

As she finishes dinner, she listens to Chalky tell Eleven all about the wonderful creatures he met on his travels so long ago, and as his stories turn to the mythical phoenix, with its rainbow wings and its flames, she stops. Could Eleven be…

Amber shakes her head. There’s only one way to answer that question, and hopefully she’ll be long gone before they can even _think_ of discussing that question.

**_Year Eleven_ **

Eleven, until now, knew little of loss, which is the way Amber would prefer it. She doesn’t remember much from before Chalky found her, but she _does_ remember grieving her parents, and she wouldn’t wish that fate on any other child.

But, of course, time marches on, and her little soldier was bound to face grief someday. She’d hoped he’d be older, of course, but the Spirit of the Land doesn’t seem to have that in mind for him, and so here they are, returning from Chalky’s funeral.

Eleven’s hands are shaking, and he can barely string a sentence together in this state. He flops dramatically onto the ground, and Amber has to carry him away from the graveyard entirely as his hands struggle to cooperate.

 _“I don’t get it,”_ he finally manages as soon as she sets him on his feet by their house. “ _Why Granddad?”_

“I don’t know, sweetie,” she answers, and she means it.

“ _Mum, there’s gotta be a way to bring him back, right?”_ There’s a strange fire in his eyes; even when Eleven has been at his most energetic, she’s never seen his expression quite like this. “ _He told me about magic like that, there’s gotta—”_

Amber shakes her head. “I’m sorry, love, but that magic won’t work. It was just his time.”

He clenches his fists, clearly willing back tears, before he opens them again. “ _There’s just gotta be!_ ”

And a burst of flame erupts from his palms, scorching the grass around them. They both jump back in fright. Well, that’s certainly a point for Eleven being a phoenix. Or perhaps almost a phoenix?

Amber wonders, for a moment, if she should tell him, but perhaps that’s a story for another day. He’s been through enough for a while, she feels.

**_Year Eighteen_ **

Amber watches Eleven and Gemma race each other up the Tor. He’s taller than his mother now, and Gemma’s not far behind him, and she lets herself muse on what fine adults they turned out to be.

Well, they’ll be adults not long from now, once their coming-of-age is completed. For now, though, he’s still her little soldier, and Gemma is a starry-eyed dreamer of a teenager, and that’s fine by her. He’s her little boy, she’s allowed to want to hold onto that for a little longer.

She spots a burst of flame from the cave entrance and hopes to every possible deity that it’s just him playing around with Gemma. The alternatives are terrifying; Eleven may not die, given that he’s probably functionally immortal, but Gemma may, and Amber doesn’t want Dunstan to mourn another of his family. But the cave occasionally lights from the inside, and before long there are fireballs on the cliffs leading to the summit.

She’s suddenly roused from her thoughts by a pair of tiny arms clutching her leg. “A-Amber,” Cole mumbles between sobs, little lungs gasping for air, “th-there were monsters, an’ then everythin’ was on _fire_ , an’—”

She shushes him gently, lifting him up and carrying him back to his parents as he dissolves into full-fledged sobbing. Hopefully this will teach him not to venture too far from his parents, but she thinks back to Eleven’s own childhood adventures; he never learned, and Cole likely won’t, either.

There’s a great plume of flame and smoke emanating from the top of the Tor, now, and a peculiar surge of light that seems eerily familiar. Hadn’t Chalky told her once about the Luminary, whose great deeds could summon the light of the World Tree? But he’d said the Luminary was the prince of Dundrasil, lost to the world when his country fell…right around the time Eleven had washed up along the river.

Ah, of course her special little soldier was chosen to be a hero, in _addition_ to probably being a phoenix. All gifts come with a cost, she supposes.

The two now-adults find their way down the Tor, Gemma practically crashing into her grandfather as she tells the story of their ceremony, and how Eleven had summoned some strange fire magic to save her from the monsters. Eleven himself tries to sign something at Amber, but his hands are shaking and he pulls his mother into a hug instead.

He finally pulls himself together to tell her his own view of what happened. “ _I just don’t know what happened up there,”_ he admits. “ _It’s like I was on autopilot or something.”_

She leads him home, sighing to herself. “My little soldier, there’s something I should have told you long ago…”


	2. fire, water, flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik doesn't quite know what to make of Eleven's stranger powers, but they can't all be the Luminary's gifts, right?
> 
> Or; twice he falls, twice he rises, and once he sets an entire plaza on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had this one mostly ready, which is why there's literally a day between them. THE CHAPTER THAT STARTED IT ALL, though I added a liiiiittle bit from the tumblr version, hehe. Thank you again Puff for semi-accidentally prompting this little sandbox.
> 
> Admittedly Ronnie, Serena and especially Sylv lurk in the background here. They'll get their time in the spotlight, believe me.
> 
> OKAY SO WARNING: it's referred to in the tags, but El dies a couple times here. It's not graphic, and tbh Erik's not even aware of it, but it's a thing to note! Phoenixes, you know.

The first time it happened, in the Gallopolis sands, Erik had chalked it up to good luck. 

He’d watched El fall, bathed in flames, and he had grabbed just about every healing item in their bags (and some magic water for Serena, in case they couldn’t heal him fast enough) before the Luminary rose, shaking the ash off his form and looking at him with a dazed expression. Almost entirely unharmed, at that; the only indications that he’d fallen at all were his uneasy steps and a lack of memory of the battle.

The second time was harder to explain. They had just left their camp in the laguna, still too close to the edge of sleep to prepare enough. The hulking coral monsters should have been easy, between the five of them, but their sleep-heavy selves can’t entirely keep up, and a hit they should have dodged brings Eleven down.

And then El bursts into flames. Again. Despite having been utterly drenched by the coral things. What the _fuck_.

Sylv looks genuinely taken aback, but Veronica and Serena treat this like an ordinary fuckin day, focusing on the monsters ruining their trip (and likely their whole mission, if El is actually...no, no, don’t think about that). And Erik, of course, searches for medicine, for water, tries summoning some of his own, even (sometimes being a kelpie has its perks), but the flames still rage until the monsters have long faded.

And El wakens once more, blinking his eyes, rubbing the ash off his (still so lovely) face. _“Uh, what did I miss_?”

Erik, quite frankly, has no response, allowing Sylv to ask away instead (and El to avoid answering anything in favor of pressing onward for that oh-so-holy water). Clearly something is strange with their favorite little leaf, and Erik really wouldn’t be surprised if every single one of their merry band is some sort of...non-human. (Sylv isn’t that subtle about being a shape-shifter, and while the twins are human by all appearances, he highly doubts that that is truly the case.)

It’s not until he’s taken by Jasper that any sort of answers come to him. He watches on the brink of consciousness, the exhaustion of his interrogation clearly weighing on him, as Eleven and the rest of his friends tear through the city to reach him. They reach the plaza, Jasper clearly putting up the fight of his life, and it seems as though there’s no hope for any of them.

The twins murmur something to Eleven, and his eyes widen for just a moment. Then he sighs, takes a deep breath—

And suddenly the plaza is engulfed in flames, snapping Erik out of his pain-fueled daze as he tries to reckon with what the _fuck_ is happening. It feels eerily familiar, but the fog in his brain is preventing him from remembering…

No, wait, he knows. It was back in Cobblestone, when El had emerged from that Yggdrasil-given vision (or was it really a trip to the past? El seemed to think so…) and discovered his hometown in ruins. He’d stood frozen for a few moments, tears rolling down his face until they morphed into wisps of steam. Shortly after, the ash and smoke in Cobblestone were only _partly_ from Jasper’s attack; the rest came from a barrage of fire spells that El had seemingly fired off without even _thinking_. Erik had let him rage for a few moments, still steaming, still terrifyingly _angry_ , but any further rage would have attracted the knights, so Erik had grabbed his hand.

El stopped the instant Erik’s skin came into contact with his. Maybe he was just worried about hurting Erik, or maybe there was something else, but whatever it was, Erik seemed to set his feet back on the ground again. He’d practically collapsed into Erik’s arms, rage bubbling over into a deep, deep sadness that Erik knew all too well…

A motion by his hands, the sound of a sword, or a knife, maybe, breaks him out of his memories. There’s something (some _one_?) cutting the ropes, scooping him up when his legs fail him, a hand smoothing his hair, but he can’t really make out what’s going on.

It’s not until he’s on Sylvando’s ship that his senses finally adjust, and his eyes land on the shimmering multicolored wings on El’s back.

Wait, _what_?

“ _So, uh_ ,” El begins, painfully sheepish, as the wings disappear before Erik’s eyes, _“I guess I should explain this.”_

Erik nods, his words failing him. The wings had been, well, beautiful, honestly, and he’s almost disappointed to see them vanish. ( _Almost_ , because the confusion of the whole situation outweighs just about every other thought in his head.)

El sighs, not out of frustration, from what Erik can tell, but from exhaustion. “ _Well, basically, I guess I’m...kind of a phoenix? That’s what the fire was.”_

Huh. Phoenix. That hadn’t been on Erik’s list at all. Dragon, maybe, but _phoenix_? Of course, that did explain how they never needed to revive him, but at the same time... “Wait, shouldn’t you be a kid again? Like, several times over?”

El frowns, shaking his head. “ _Most become chicks again, I think, but for whatever reason, I’ve always been different. I come back the same age, but I forget what killed me in the first place. I think it’s a Luminary thing?_ ”

Nothing like any of the phoenixes Erik has heard of, then. “Huh. So the last one was a phoenix too?”

El shrugs. “ _There’s some stories of a phoenix who took the form of a human and helped keep the world safe. That’s what Granddad told me, anyway. But I’m not sure those are about Erdwin.”_ Something about his expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing as he bites his lip. “ _Uh, if that’s not okay with you, you’re not obligated to stay. I mean, I know humans tend to be kinda...antsy around us—_ ”

Erik grabs his hand. “El, we have a shapeshifter in the party. A shapeshifter who doesn’t care if people know, at that.” His standard cocky grin returns. “Plus, whoever said I was human? Nah, I’m in this for the long haul, partner.”

Eleven’s gaze shifts entirely from fear to...something that Erik’s a little scared to put a name to. Hope? Love? Something else?

So Erik decides to take a chance.

“El, you’re...well, I love you. I’m not going anywhere now.”

That was the right thing to say, he thinks, as he suddenly finds his lap full of a very warm (and very tired) boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have every party member's mythical counterpart planned out already, unless something suddenly changes, haha. And some of the villains, by which I mean Jasper.
> 
> I have half a thing already written for next time, which is shaping up to be Jade and Eleven Infodump on How Mythical Folks Work In Erdrea, so that's fun.


	3. what could have been (what was)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheltering from the rain after Hendrik's second murder attempt, Jade and Eleven discuss mythical lore, and Eleven does a little thinking about how his life turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this half-done since the last bit of this went up. I have two other half-done drabble-chapters, including one for a thing that's only been on my tumblr (+ the prompts doc) so far! It's gonna be a busy three days on my AO3, hehe.
> 
> I have a lot of Very Strong Thoughts on the lore of this thing, like how mythicals are connected to monsters, but not everything could fit in here! I'l probs draft up a tumblr post or something.

“Goddess above am I lucky that rain doesn’t count as running water,” Jade grumbles as they listen to the rain fall. “Being a vampire isn’t quite as glamorous as they’d make you think.”

Eleven laughs. “ _Never thought it was. Though I must ask…if you’re a vampire, how did you function in the tournament? Aren’t you supposed to be nocturnal or something?”_

Jade fusses with the chain of her necklace. “Most are, but I’m so used to being up in the mornings that my sleep schedule has effectively been switched. I’m still vulnerable to sunlight, of course, but there are ways of getting around it. Like putting a dome over a city so the sun and moon can’t bother anyone.” She holds up the stone on her necklace, seared with a strange sigil. “Your mother made this for me, years ago, to make sure I was safe in the daylight. The life of a princess doesn’t allow for daytime naps.” She sighs.

“ _Gotcha. So were you born that way?”_ Eleven frowns, suddenly self-conscious. “ _Sorry, I shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”_

“No, no, questions are fine. I doubt you saw a lot of people like yourself in your hometown.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Born that way. Apparently, Father didn’t realize my mother was a vampire.” She sighs, staring wistfully at a spot on the wall, as if she’s thinking back to something long ago. “Like I said, the life of a princess—or a queen, in Mother’s case—doesn’t allow for daytime naps. I think that may be part of what killed her.”

“ _I…I’m sorry. I really lucked out getting a Mum who was fine taking care of a weird kid._ ”

She loosens the ribbon holding her ponytail in place, idly brushing out her hair. “You’re not weird, just different. And trust me, I’ve had long enough to get over most of my father’s failings.” At the sight of his hands moving, she cuts him off, tying her hair back up as she does. (Impressive that she can do that without a mirror…wait, vampire. Duh.) “Monster blood, before you ask. Rab’s claws aren’t just for show.”

 _“Huh. I must be getting predictable.”_ He collapses into Jade, laughter racking his frame as she joins in. He wipes tears of laughter from his eyes as he collects himself. “ _You guys knew, right? That I’m not human, I mean.”_

“Well, of course,” Jade replies, “I’ve certainly never met a child with wings…well, a _human_ child, anyway. Especially ones as colorful as yours. Phoenix wasn’t exactly our first thought, but we knew you were special. Rab scoured the library looking for books to make sure you were getting everything you needed.”

Whoa. For some reason that thought had never occurred to him, that his family in Dundrasil was trying that hard as well.

“All he found was how to care for harpies, of course.” Jade snickers. “He was gathering raw meat for days before he realized he was wrong. Though,” she muses, “it did mean I had a nice stash of blood while I was there, so I couldn’t quite complain.”

Eleven nods, even if he doesn’t entirely get why it’s funny. All he’s ever known are humans, and shapeshifters, and whatever Erik is. (And even then, his boyfriend hasn’t quite explained his own mythical heritage to him, so he doesn’t know, really.) “ _Is it really that uncommon to have a non-human kid, then?”_

“Most bloodlines don’t quite work the same way humans do. Vampires and werewolves are mostly biological, though those conditions can be spread through other means, but some beings influence a bloodline in other ways. A pact made generations back, for example.”

_“Right, right. So you think some Dundrasilian royal made a deal with a phoenix or something?”_

Jade shakes her head. “I think that your particular situation is a case of Yggdrasil intervening. She does work in mysterious ways…” She sighs. “We probably should find our way back to the others. I think we’ve lost Hendrik, so we needn’t worry about running into _him_ again.”

Eleven nods, leading the way outside of their shack and back into the daylight. The rain seems to have stopped while they were talking, which is fine by both of them; neither of them are quite fond of water, mythical blood and all. Really, Erik’s the only one of them who seems to thrive in it. Which reminds him…

“ _Hey, Jade,”_ he asks as he taps her on the shoulder, “ _what kind of non-humans are drawn to water?”_

She wrinkles her nose. “Entirely too many. You and I would need several pages to list them all.”

“ _Huh. Never mind then. I was hoping to figure out Erik, but…”_

She taps her chin thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed. “I can think of a few options…but that’s a conversation for another time.” She leads the way across still-unfamiliar land back to the ruined city.

As Eleven follows her, he finds his thoughts wandering; what would his life have been like, had the city not fallen? If he was raised by his biological parents, by Rab and Jade and the knights and staff of the castle? It’s almost unimaginable, such a different life than his quiet life in Cobblestone…

Is it rude of him, disrespectful of those who lost their lives when the city fell, of the survivors who had to forge a new life elsewhere, to think that he prefers how his life really turned out? Sure, he could do without the literal army following him, or the repeated deaths that he _can’t remember_ , but he thinks castle life might be too much for him. Even if it would have been easier…

He’s knocked out of his thoughts—literally, in fact—by a sudden weight on top of him. “El, holy shit, there you are, we were worried _sick_ , we thought we lost you both—” Erik prattles on and on, showing a side of himself Eleven has never really seen before. (He never knew his boyfriend was such a worrywart…it’s endearing, it really is.)

Would he have found Erik if he’d been raised in Dundrasil? For that matter, would he have known Gemma? The destruction of the town he called home hurts, of course it does, but still…

He hugs Erik tighter, deliberately ignoring Veronica’s fake-retching somewhere behind Erik. Yes, life in Dundrasil would have been easier, and he appreciates all Eleanor, Irwin, Rab and Jade did for him way back then, but even with everything that’s been thrown his way, he wouldn’t change how things turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've never explicitly said it, Veronica and Serena's particular brand of Not Human is to be discussed in the next bit of this (featuring a character no one would expect!), and Rab is the group's token human because, like, can you imagine Clueless Human Rab trying to manage a gaggle of not-humans. It's SO funny.


	4. a new leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Faris' only problem was that he was born so close to the birth of the Luminary.
> 
> or, a VERY unlikely partnership is born in the wake of the Slayer's assault on Gallopolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so. for rarepair week RavensChrome contributed [this LOVELY faris/el/erik fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219490) and I was assaulted SO STRONGLY by faris feels that this chapter sprung into being. I almost put the last chapter on hold for it.
> 
> ANYWAY this whole fic ain't chronological, necessarily, it's just how it happened to turn out so far, so we're jumping back to Gallopolis! (Except for a line at the end it just made sense okay.) This chapter brought to you by aforementioned fic, Gallopolis being Weird, and also the part of the character book where Veronica says she wants to be a magic teacher.

Gallopolis was never as superstitious as Dundrasil, or even Heliodor, of course; that would be quite a feat indeed! But there are some omens that can’t quite be ignored, and when Erdwin’s Lantern glows twice as bright a few weeks before the new royal’s birth, and when the chitter of fairies in the Celestial Sands reaches the ears of all in the kingdom, well, one can’t quite help being caught up in all of that.

They’d thought their darling baby boy was the new Luminary, at first, but he did not bear the same symbol Prince Eleven had, and that would have been quite a quick turnover in terms of souls. (Though, perhaps, if She was desperate, that may well have happened.) But the laughter of the fairies continued to ring throughout the dunes, and the answer was obvious in a mere matter of days.

Of course. Prince Faris is a changeling. The fairies must have been plotting to swap him before his very birth! Perhaps some places would see this as a curse, something to be mourned, but this was nothing but a blessing for Gallopolis. Their sultan-to-be would be quite a magnificent ruler indeed!

Well, that is what they had told Faris, but to be quite truthful, he never quite believed it himself. The part about him being a magnificent ruler, that is. Or about him being a changeling, for that matter.

Faris has never quite had a knack for most things. The city—nay, the kingdom!—placed such grand expectations on him, put him on a pedestal he could not hope to cling onto, and the only skill he has to show for his purported fey heritage is his silver tongue. Which is not to say it does him no favors, of course; his charm keeps Gallopolis from wondering too much about their fraud of a prince, and his way with words lets him sway others to aid him in his grand deception.

But, truthfully, Faris would very quickly trade that for the ability to ride a horse. Or any sort of combat skill. Such, of course, is merely the stuff of fairy tales, though perhaps the presence of a shapeshifter indicates that there may be hope for him yet...but it’s not as though he can stray from Gallopolis for long enough to find someone willing to trade.

(That, and he has heard many a tale of deals such as that gone wrong. Faris may not be intelligent, but he knows when something is a bad idea. He simply doesn’t often listen to that knowledge.)

He can hear his father practicing his grand speech for the Sand National tomorrow, talking up his son, child of the fey themselves, and it nearly makes him sick. Goddess above, he has to find a way out of this. And that quartet of travelers (who’ve surely heard all about his many, many talents), asking around about that precious branch or whatever it may be, might just be his ticket out. So long as he puts on the most of his charm, choosing his words ever so carefully...

“Ha-ha! Well, certainly you know of my...talents, shall we say?” He tells them, keeping his voice down over the thrum of the circus. “If you do this for me, not only can I ensure the Rainbough finds its way into your possession, but I can grant you a boon born of the fey themselves!”

One among them, a red-capped young woman with a tongue far sharper (and far fouler) than he had expected, looks him straight in the eye and replies, “You’re full of shit. You’re not a fairy of any sort. Trust me, I would know.”

He blinks. Certainly not the response he had hoped for, or even remotely anticipated. He watches them, silent, for just a moment. He watches the other girl among them (her sister?) try to silence her, the blue haired boy to his left rolling his eyes, and then his gaze lands on the presumed leader of their pack, if their insistence on referring to his judgement is any indication. He looks trusting enough, probably from some small town judging by the jacket (patched and stitched and clearly worn by someone else before him).

Faris doesn’t even have to say anything before the leader’s hands move, paying no real mind to Faris himself, as though the young man doesn’t know (or care?) that he can understand sign language perfectly well. “ _Doesn’t matter. There’s no harm in going along with it, right? And for all he knows, that might just be what his parents told him. The fairy part, I mean_.”

That is certainly not far from the truth, though Faris knows he himself has been lying through his teeth about being a changeling for about as long as he’s been able to talk.

The rest of the group agrees to their leader’s terms, however begrudgingly, and Faris tries to hide his distaste for this whole business in the first place, covering it up with grating laughter and fake smiles. But what choice does he have? He cannot simply tell his father that he’s not capable; he tried, once, and had simply been lauded for his humility. No, his only choice is to draft overly trusting outsiders to do his dirty work and pray they never tell.

His stand-in wins, to no one’s surprise (at least, those who live in Gallopolis), and Faris breathes a sigh of relief as he hears his name called. With this over, surely he can simply go back to living a lie without having to prove anything—

The screams coming from the palace, the knights yelling that the Slayer has returned, cause all those hopes to come crashing back to the ground.

\---

The same red-capped girl looms over him, hands on her hips, as the rest of their little battalion falls to slumber. Faris, of course, had _planned_ on joining them, but if Veronica (that’s her name, right?) wants to cut into both of their respective beauty sleep, well, that is her problem, he supposes.

“Ugh, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s humans who’ve decided that their humanity means it’s not worth even _trying,”_ she grumbles, though it seems she intends on keeping her voice low. “Honestly, there’s so many of you lot that just _give up._ ”

Hm. There is certainly something odd about the way she discusses humans. “Are you not a human yourself, Madam Protests-Too-Much?”

“I’m a _changeling_ , you dolt, just like my sister.” She wrinkles her nose as she pauses, seemingly rethinking her words. “I had, er, a bit of a run-in with something that sealed away most of my fairy magic for now, so I _suppose_ you can be forgiven for not realizing that.”

So the cat does not _always_ use her claws, then.

“Some prince you’re going to be if you keep lying about your blood like that. It’s one thing to fake greatness, it’s another thing entirely to claim being a _fairy_ as justification.”

“And what choice do I have?” Faris nearly yells in response, clapping a hand over his mouth to avoid awakening Veronica’s companions (or worse, the knights). He summons every ounce of self-control to hush his voice as he continues. “My parents have told all of Gallopolis that I was swapped at birth. I cannot correct them or admit a shred of incompetence without being praised for my humility, without my difficulties being brushed aside and ignored. And on the rare occasions that I’ve simply let the cards fall where they may, I was accused of mere laziness.”

Something in her face changes, softens, as though his little rant altered her entire perception of him. (Unwise of her, certainly; he may be entirely truthful in this case, but if there is one thing she’s learned of him, it’s that his words should not be trusted.) She studies him, for a moment, the near-useless sword by his side and the never-scratched shield next to it. “Have you ever tried magic?”

He scoffs. “Magic is not the way of Gallopolis.”

She pulls out her staff, clearly resisting the urge to smack him with it. “Well, starting with you, it _will_ be. Get up, we don’t have all night, and you have a _lot_ of ground to cover.”

\---

He manages to get in a single blast of fire magic in the fight against the Slayer, but even that much surprises the knights (and brings a grin to Veronica’s face that she quickly hides). And when the Slayer comes alive in the city square, he brandishes his sword, even if it will do no good with his utter lack of skill; wouldn’t using magic, without properly explaining himself, simply add fuel to the fire? (And, of course, he knew it would end well all along; after all, he fought alongside a quintet of powerful warriors.)

Veronica takes off sometime during the hubbub, and the next time he sees his father, the Sultan is infinitely apologetic for all of the expectations placed on him, informing him that “the young woman in red” chewed him out. And when he goes to see off the (rather disappointed, considering the prize they came for is no longer here) travelers, she pulls him aside.

“If you ever tell anyone about our little chat, I _will_ kick your arse,” she murmurs, staff against his throat. “I have a reputation to keep, you know.”

He laughs nervously. “As you wish, madam.”

She wrinkles her nose as she turns to leave, as though the term of address tastes sour in her mouth. She hears her murmur, “goddess, I hope he actually _learns_ something from this whole mess,” but he really cannot bring himself to care about that.

Today marks the turning of a new leaf for Faris. And for Gallopolis as a whole, someday.

He pores over every tome a tourist presents to the palace; it turns out that he has _quite_ the taste for learning, when it’s not simply swords and horses. And when the apocalypse begins its slow march across Erdrea in a mere matter of months, he joins his knights on the front lines, protecting the city and searching every possible tome for an answer to whatever is bringing Erdwin’s Lantern crashing down…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is almost half the length of the previous three chapters COMBINED what HAPPENED


	5. spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not so much that some people aren't _meant_ for the spotlight. It's more that some prefer to stay in the background.
> 
> But at some point, working behind the scenes isn't enough anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JESUS, SIX MONTHS?????? I am so sorry my sweet bird son.
> 
> I've been working on this for a while, which is why it went up less than 24 hours after the most recent troublerouser!!! I've always known Gemma was gonna be human, and I wanted to explore her take on mythicals for a WHILE, and, well, this. It's Last Bastion hours in Chel town, I suppose. I _think_ part of this was inspired by a comment convo with Frost_Glaive? There was a discussion on Gemma knowing she's not much of a fighter and I really like that concept, so if you're reading this, thank you!!!
> 
> Originally bird boy wasn't supposed to show up, but he arrived anwyay because he lives in my head rent-free and I needed to bring attention to something. Also please enjoy gryphon!hendrik. I had to look up how to spell that and there are THREE SEPARATE SPELLINGS i hate the english language.
> 
> Featuring some Sweet Lore, because is it really forest fires if we don't have weird amounts of lore discussion?

Truth be told, having a best friend with wings and cool fire powers leaves everyone’s opinion of you a bit...lacking, to say the least, but Gemma doesn’t really mind. She’s always been content staying behind the scenes, selling clothes and accessories to the heroes and praying for their success.

Well, that was before the prison, anyway. Before her town fell, before the Tree fell, before the rubble she once called Cobblestone became the Last Bastion. Before the ruins were flooded with people, like herself or like Ven, before the town was barraged with monster attacks. Before everyone said to leave it up to the werewolves and the witches and those with mythical powers.

Maybe Gemma should step up, learn to fight and protect what’s left of her hometown...but no, they’ve got a handle on it, don’t they? The folks with actual combat skills, who actually know how to keep people safe.

But time marches on, and the humans stay behind while the mythicals fight, and slowly they vanish, and slowly the few monsters that make it into the Bastion become eerily familiar…

“The Bastion, it seems, is deficient in hope,” Hendrik tells her when she asks, once the gryphon manages to (mostly) tear himself from his guilt and renewed grief. “Some feel that life would be easier as a monster, so monsters they become. Such is the connection between mythicals and monsters…”

So perhaps they  _ have _ been fighting their former allies, rather than strangers wearing their costumes. Well, that sucks, to put it lightly. “An’ what about you, Sir ‘Endrik?” she asks. “‘Ave  _ you  _ run out of ‘ope?”

His wings flutter with frustration. “Not Sir Hendrik, no longer. I have failed my countryfolk and the world at large, I no longer deserve such a title…”

“However,” he adds as he forces himself to settle down, “I have seen firsthand how Mordegon views anyone under his leadership, mythical, monster or human. I know that a world under his banner is a world I do not wish to see. I have yet to lose hope in the Bastion. In humanity as a whole.”

Gemma cracks a smile for the first time in what feels like months. “Glad t’ ‘ear it,” she tells him as she returns to her needlework. They’re getting low on fighters, and it’s only a matter of time before the ones they have left finally fall...or worse.

\---

Gemma’s fine staying behind the scenes. She’s not trying to lie to herself, no matter what some of the gossips in the Bastion might say; she simply knows when it’s time to step up and join the fight. She has a whole closet full of makeshift weaponry: a piece of cloth braided into a whip, a pointed rock fastened to a stick to form an axe, a pair of one-handed crossbows snagged from a fallen soldier...really, the only problem is finding someone to teach her to fight.

The last few werewolves shake their heads at her. The witches outright cackle at her in disbelief, as if the idea of a human fighting alongside them is something out of a comedy. She asks each of the mythical soldiers, and each one responds the same: no, leave it to us, we can protect you, what can a  _ human  _ do?

She starts to understand why so many have already turned their backs on the world of humans, if her  _ allies _ behave like this. So she really only has one option left.

“‘Endrik,” she asks, dropping armfuls of weaponry at his feet, “teach me t’ fight! You need all the ‘elp out there you can get, right?”

He blinks at her in disbelief. “Miss Gemma, though I certainly appreciate your aid, surely there are more qualified teachers than myself. A proper hero, not—“

She scoffs. “You  _ are _ an ‘ero! Even if you don’t b’lieve that yourself. An’ besides, the other soldiers won’t even let me touch a real sword, or anythin’ like that.” Scowling, she continues, voice pitched up in mockery. “‘Oh, no, leave it to the  _ real _ fighters, you’re just a  _ ‘uman _ , what can  _ you _ do?’”

Hendrik springs to his feet. “I have known a number of humans whom I would consider  _ more _ than capable. Even Erdwin himself was a man…” He trails off for an instant, lost in wherever his thoughts go here in the Bastion. “But no matter. Come with me. If you are to join us on the front lines, you have a great deal of training ahead of you.”

\---

She still gets the spare strange look from the mythicals fighting beside her, or the humans who remain content to let everyone else take care of the monsters, but all it takes is a well-aimed strike of her whip, or the snap of her crossbows or the crash of her axe, to earn her the respect a soldier deserves. And sure, in a perfect world she wouldn’t need that respect, in a perfect world she could be their seamstress and their morale-booster, but this world is far from perfect. Truth be told, she’s starting to realize the world had a lot lacking even  _ before _ Yggdrasil fell. So she does what she must.

And, it seems, what she must do includes convincing others to join her. She makes an exception for those who can’t, for those whose talents are better suited for bartering or smithing, but aside from those…

“D’you really think you’ll be okay with jus’ standin’ on the sidelines?” she asks more than one human who lingers behind during an attack. “Or would you rather fight alongside us?” She tosses them whatever she can: the makeshift weapons she’s long since replaced, things she’s salvaged from monsters or fallen troops. “Trainin’ starts in an hour!”

She doesn’t expect a lot of recruits, not at first, and the arrivals stay true to expectations; very few, mostly the particularly bold among the residents of the Bastion. But over time, first as a trainee and then as one of the generals herself, she watches the ranks grow, bursting with folks from all walks of life. 

And soon, it seems, she spots a few familiar faces creeping back into the Bastion, lending their own non-human powers to the cause once more.

\---

She doesn’t  _ mind  _ the spotlight, not really! But given the choice, she really would prefer working behind the scenes.

It’s honestly a  _ relief _ when Ven stumbles into the Bastion; Carnelian begins planning a raid on the castle, and everyone’s focus shifts onto their Luminary.

Their very  _ confused _ Luminary.

_ “I don’t...remember, Gem,”  _ he confesses in between stuffing every item into his bag that he could  _ possibly  _ need for the trip to the castle.  _ “One minute we were heading to Yggdrasil, and the next, I was a fish.” _

She stifles a laugh. Gosh, she  _ really  _ shouldn’t be laughing, but his description…

_ “No, I agree, it’s ridiculous! But anyway, something’s been wrong ever since I got back on land. I can’t use my fire anymore, and I can’t fly, either.”  _ He holds out a hand, conjuring only a puff of smoke before his face scrunches up; she knows he’s trying to summon his wings, and there’s the faintest dance of light before it fades away.  _ “I think....”  _ He pauses, shuffling nervously, tears dotting the corners of his eyes.  _ “I think I might’ve died up there, Gem. I think that’s why everything down here is wrong.” _

She gasps, a hand covering her mouth instinctively. She’s seen a lot of death down here, both on  _ and _ off the battlefield, but she still really hasn’t adjusted to it. And besides… “But you’re back, right? ’Ow’d you…”

_ “Not the first time, honestly. But usually someone’s around to fill me in, and assuming Hendrik was there, I don’t think he’ll tell me; he can barely  _ look  _ at me.”  _ He frowns, shoving more supplies into his bag, probably to avoid talking about it any further. 

So she lets that particular topic rest, instead telling him all about her time in the dungeon, the establishment of the Bastion, her training with Hendrik. He seems almost  _ relieved  _ to listen to her; maybe it’s ‘cause he thought she was dead, maybe he’s just glad to have some companionship. It doesn’t really matter, in the end.

She sees him off with a hug, salutes an  _ incredibly _ uncomfortable Hendrik, and watches the two of them set off in search of an end to the monster onslaught. Carnelian’s in charge of the Bastion in their absence, in theory. But in effect, a  _ vast _ majority of them answer to her, instead.

She watches the sky clear, watches the monsters turn tail and run, and breathes a sigh of relief as she thinks of all the clothing designs she hasn’t gotten to stitch together yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth noting that, generally speaking, mythicals _do_ have a humanoid form that they tend to hang out in, which is what's up with Hendrik here. He's got wings and talons but is otherwise a standard-lookin' dude. (Should I have explained this in the text at some point? Yes.) Yes the "capable humans" he was referring to includes Jasper...who might be up next, actually.
> 
> Is it better that Eleven doesn't remember? Does it matter when the Gloomnivore exists and can probably drudge it up anyway, or at the very least the few remaining Yggie roots can be like "lmao look what you missed bud"? Who knows?


	6. birds of a feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper finally faces down the imposter in Heliodor Castle, and perhaps gains a bit more than he initially bargained for. (and it is so worth it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Implied act 3 spoilers in the chapter text and DEFINITE spoilers in the chapter end notes!!!)
> 
> Taking a trip BACK through the timeline! This occurs first, within a year of Dundrasil's fall. Mostly.
> 
> In the end notes of like chapter 2 i state that I have Jasper figured out. This was a lie actually. I was thinking basilisk for a bit but as I developed the Lore I went, hang on, no. He's human, bro!
> 
> I went back through to make sure I hadn't accidentally contradicted myself, but sure enough, no confirmation on whether the phoenix was Erdwin or not. I genuinely don't remember whether I intended that to be the case, but I think it's cooler to have the phoenix be someone else! >:3 Parallels...more in the end notes!!

For all that some of the mythical folk seem so  _ certain  _ of themselves, Jasper believes that he is the only one to notice the change in His Majesty, in addition to the other strange phenomena in the castle as of late. The rest of the knights, the visiting nobles, certainly  _ they  _ can excuse it all away as grief. But how does that explain the blood-red feathers littering the halls, the claw marks on the throne, the scorch marks on His Majesty’s wardrobe?

They are all fools. Fools who underestimate him solely for his humanity, while they fail to see what’s under their very noses. But, of course, Jasper is a tactician, and while he has no love for his country—no longer, at any rate, not after he’s seen how truly full of themselves they can be—he certainly knows that, should he unmask whatever is currently masquerading as the king, he will acquire the praise he seeks and, quite frankly,  _ deserves. _

He waits until long after nightfall, until the rest of his battalion has long since succumbed to slumber, before making his move. He watches His Majesty slink back into his quarters and follows closely behind, ensuring that he is seen by neither eagle-eyed maid nor curious squire. But, of course, everyone has already retired; Jasper is a tactician, not a fool, and he’s ensured this plan would be foolproof.

“Pardon me,” he says as soon as the door latches closed, watching Carnelian (or, rather, the being falsely claiming to be Carnelian) pivot on his feet to glare at him, “but I do not believe you are the ruler I serve. Pray tell, what exactly is your business masquerading as our monarch?”

The Not-Carnelian scoffs. “You may not be the gryphon, but you certainly have an eagle’s eye.” Jasper feels his blood curdle at the mere  _ mention _ of Hendrik. “Not a single other soul has batted an eye at me since my arrival. I suppose I owe you this much, in turn, before I silence you.”

Jasper had expected the fraud to melt into another form, perhaps blend into the shadows for an instant before assuming their proper guise; he does  _ not _ anticipate watching the stranger crumple to the ground as another being steps out from within. Had this entity been occupying His Majesty’s form this entire time?

As this entity settles, shifting from vapor into its proper form, Jasper eyes them with suspicion and, of course, confusion. Certainly there are mythicals who can use their power to take control of others, but he doubts any of them are quite like this. They have wings as Hendrik does, since Yggdrasil  _ does  _ seem to have it out for Jasper personally, but the feathers are far too red and orange, far too vibrant, as though they’re meant to stand out. To be  _ special,  _ as Jasper himself longs to be.

He calculates in his head, adding up every strange happening since the fall of Dundrasil, and comes to a disquieting conclusion: this particular being is a phoenix. But how could a phoenix take hold of His Majesty, yank him around like a puppet? Is Jasper merely lacking in his knowledge of mythicals? No, that’s preposterous. There must be something else to this whole matter.

“No ordinary phoenix could do this,” Jasper sputters, to the creature’s apparent amusement. “Tell me your secrets, or I’ll end you where you stand.”

An empty threat. Jasper intends to drag every ounce of information out of his prey’s mouth, no matter how long it may take.

They laugh, though it sounds closer to a bird-like screech. “What know you of ordinary phoenixes? I believe I am the last of my kind, and I have made a point of staying unseen.” Their talons tap on the marbled floor, a sound Jasper finds  _ quickly  _ grates on him. “But, if you  _ truly _ must know, I was gifted some...outside help.” A fragment of birdsong weaves through the air; Jasper knows through Hendrik and the few other avian mythicals that this functions as a sort of thoughtful hum. “You may call me Mordegon, though you’ll not live long enough to make good use of it.” 

Mordegon pauses for a moment, and while his mythical form cannot smile as a human would, Jasper’s certain that, had he a human mouth, the phoenix would be wearing a sinister grin. “Should you not...impress me, that is.”

Jasper scowls. “I have no interest in  _ impressing _ a fraud that has courted the entire kingdom under its protectors’ noses.”

Another screech-laugh (Yggdrasil above, how have none of the staff so much as  _ tried _ to investigate? To say nothing of His Majesty’s continued slumber). “Oh,  _ Jasper. _ I have watched you for how many months, now? I’ve seen you seethe as the kingdom lays their adoration at Hendrik’s feet and barely pays  _ you  _ any mind. I’ve watched the knights, with their scales and feathers and claws, and I’ve seen them laugh at the  _ pitiful human _ who dares call himself their commander.” He covers Jasper’s shoulders with a too-large wing, in some  _ pathetic  _ attempt at a show of camaraderie _.  _ “Tell me, truly, how much do you care for them?”

Jasper cares for their  _ opinion  _ a great deal. Were he to receive even a fraction of the appreciation that Hendrik does, Jasper could very well die a happy man. Should the non-human knights  _ respect _ him, follow his command with little comment the way they march in time with Hendrik, Jasper would be more than content. Should Hendrik view him as an equal...well, perhaps the more logical portions of his mind would tell him that Hendrik already does.

But does all of that amount to genuine care for  _ any  _ of them?

He grew up alongside Hendrik; the gryphon traveled alongside him to find his mother (am adventure that ended in tragedy, as it was always meant to), trained with him from the time they were children, had promised to care for Jade as he himself had. It would be cruel  _ and  _ false to claim he cares nothing for Hendrik. Perhaps he had cared for Jade, once, before Dundrasil fell, before mythicals claimed that the royal family’s human hearts were  _ too soft _ to keep the kingdom standing.

But the rest of them? As far as Jasper is concerned, they can burn.

“I believe that answers my question,” Mordegon tells him. “I am on your side  _ completely. _ They are far too focused on the contents of one’s bloodline.” His wing retreats to his side, and Jasper watches as his talons glow a faint, dark purple. “My, ah,  _ gifted _ powers extend beyond merely puppeting your excuse for a monarch. I can, if you so desire, give you the kind of power you so seek. All you need do is aid me in my task, and I will  _ ensure _ that it is worth your while. Do we have an understanding?”

If he were of sounder mind, Jasper would destroy the bird in an instant. If he were of sounder mind, Jasper would awaken His Majesty, report the imposter, and reap the rewards of saving the kingdom from a fraudulent king.

But, it seems, Jasper’s judgment is clouded by the promise of adoration, of strength, glory,  _ notice. _ And as Mordegon extends a wing, Jasper grasps it in some twisted facsimile of a handshake.

_ Patience, _ Mordegon tells him as he phases back into Carnelian’s form.  _ But in time, you will have what you so desire. _

\---

Ultimately, it takes Jasper seventeen years and a matter of months to fulfill the duty Mordegon has placed upon him.

And, as he flexes his new wings, curls his talons, and lets out a familiar bird-like shriek, he finds that it has  _ certainly _ been worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time i go "this is the hardest character i've ever had to write" i get a new hardest character, but I think Mordy here is gonna stay lodged at the top. good lord.
> 
> So! I have VERY strong feelings about how Mordegon is very definitely crafting the Darkspawn rumors based on his _own_ existence. Like, his appearance marks the return of the big bad evil nightmare? Sure does! So if Calasmos is Yggdrasil's evil parallel, then Mordegon functions the same way for the Luminary. It's FASCINATING and ultimately why act 2 goes the way it does, and why he's the main game's villain and Calasmos is reserved for the postgame.
> 
> Anyway that's a lot of words to say why MORCANT was the phoenix, not Erdwin. Just had to note that somewhere, hehe.
> 
> I've got a few ideas buzzing around, but still not anything sharply concrete. Maybe should take on Lonalulu...? I definitely wanna do Act 2 Hotto, though. :3
> 
> ("Does that mean the Seer is also a phoenix" who's to say?)

**Author's Note:**

> yell about my fics and/or this game in general:
> 
> tumblr: thechavanator (main), eleven-of-light (dq spoiler blog)  
> twitter: nonotfromportal  
> discord: Chel!#2061


End file.
